


Any Other World

by Living_On_My_Own



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Smile (Band) Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:15:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24687487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Living_On_My_Own/pseuds/Living_On_My_Own
Summary: He is new to this city, new to this life of freedom. But he's not as free in his head as he thought he would be.
Relationships: Bomi Bulsara/Jer Bulsara, Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	1. Any Other World

_November 14th 1967_

_Roger's POV_ :

I walked down Oxford street. It was night time, the street was so busy, every bar filled with drunk people, every restaurant busy with hungry people. I came out of my apartment to get some air, the heating wasn't working in it so it was better to be in the cold outdoor instead of being in the cold indoor.

A young man bumped into me. He was alone, a suitcase in one hand and the other holding tightly onto his T-shirt. The poor lad had no jacket on, he looked like he was freezing. His hair was a mess. He had a scared expression written all over his face. His skin was olive, his eyes dark and sweet at the same time. His lips were the same colour as his nose because of the cold. He looked beautiful.

"I am so sorry." He apologised.

He had an accent that I couldn't figure out. He had an overbite, it was unique, but not in a bad way. His eyes looked panicked. He stared at me a few seconds.

"It's okay." I said, before starting to walk again.

I had barely done any steps before I heard him call for me.

"Wait!"

I turned around and watched as he walked to me. His whole body screamed for me to help him. I noticed after a few seconds the bruise on his cheek he constantly tried hiding with his long jet black hair.

"Can you help me?" He asked, his voice shaking.

"What do you need?" I asked as comforting as possible, I didn't want to scare him off.

A small smile formed on his lips. His eyes brightened, like a kid looking around in a candy shop. He looked pensive a few seconds, opening his mouth and closing it barely seconds after. His cheeks heated up as I waited for him to say something.

"D-do you- I am sorry, I do not speak English very good." He explained, trying to speak correctly.

"It's okay, take your time."

He took something in the back pockets of his pants. It was his wallet. He opened it, taking the money he had. He barely had anything in it. Only maybe around 50 pounds.

"I do not have much money, where can I go sleep with what I have?" He asked slowly.

I looked at him, he really didn't have enough to go to any hotel.

"I don't think you have enough money." I told him sadly.

"Oh." He only said.

His face crumbled. He looked at the money in his hands, putting it pack in the wallet and placing it in his pocket. He looked at me again, before putting his face in his hands. He shook his head vigorously and removed his hands, revealing tears. I put my hand on his shoulder. He slightly flinched.

"Hey, don't cry. Don't you have family here?" I asked him.

He shook his head.

"My family is in Zanzibar." He told me.

I raised an eyebrow, having absolutely no idea where Zanzibar was.

"It is in Tanzania on the eastern cost of Africa." He explained.

He looked down at his hands, before looking in my eyes once again.

"I am sorry for taking your time. I- uh- I will go."

I felt sorry for the man. He looked completely exhausted, he was shaking because of the cold, his eyes repeatedly looked scared and the bruise on his cheek didn't make him look less vulnerable. Maybe I should have let him deal with his own problems, I didn't even know him. But I couldn't do that, I couldn't leave him for the night, with nowhere to go to and I knew people didn't always have good intentions at night in London.

"Stay at my place for the night. I have a couch you can sleep on." I offer him.

His eyes went wide.

"I can not let you do that. You do not know me and it is my fault I have no where to go." He rambled, cheeks red with either embarrassment or coldness.

"I'm not letting you freeze out here. I insist. And my apartment can get awfully lonely, so I'd be more than happy to let you stay with me." I told him while taking one of his frozen hands.

"Really?" He asked me with a small voice.

I nodded smiling at him. A shy smile formed on his face and he wrapped his arms around me in a thankful way. I squeezed him back. When he pulled back, his cheeks were burning and he muttered an apology for being so tactile. We walked to my flat.

"So, what's your name?" I asked.

"Far- Freddie. Freddie Bulsara. You?" He said with confidence slightly noticeable.

"Roger Taylor. How old are you?"

"I am 21." He confessed.

21???? That meant he was older than me, which he didn't like at all!

"Wow, I thought you were younger than me! I'm 18." I told him.

"Why did you come to London?" I asked.

His breathing stopped suddenly. He stopped looking at me, his smile fading. He put his hair behind his ears, more in a nervous way than anything. Well that's how it looked. He looked tense, his body stiff, looking like it hurt.

"I do not think I want to say." He whispered.

"It's okay." I smiled.

We stayed silent for a while, walking at a normal pace. He looked relaxed again, looking around fascinatingly, he seemed now at peace, not like before. He noticed I was staring at him and he looked at me with again red cheeks. He shyly ducked his head, avoiding my gaze.

"My flat isn't very big, I hope it's fine." I said while unlocking the door.

It seemed like the heating still wasn't working, it was absolutely frozen in there. I opened the lights of the living room. I told Freddie to put his shoes on the carpet if he wanted to remove them. He did and left his suitcase near the closed door.

"Are you hungry?" I asked.

He shook his head, looking he was more trying to convince himself.

"Are you sure? I can give you something." I told him.

He looked hesitant for a few seconds before finally whispering a small and frightened please. I got in the kitchen and he followed me. I searched through my fridge, not finding much great things. I noticed a pasta left over and decided it was gonna do the job. I heated it up in the microwave and took Freddie back to the living room to make him eat on the couch.

I still couldn't believe a stranger was eating my pastas in my living room.

I noticed him staring at the cupboard in the corner of the room while I sat across him. He seemed almost disturbed by it, a small shiver making him shake from head to toe. He ate the pastas and smiled at me thankfully before whispering a sweet thank you. Okay he definitely couldn't be in any way dangerous.

"C-can you-" He tried talking but didn't say much.

"Can I what?" I asked him.

"Can you open the door of that a bit?" He told me, pointing his finger at the cupboard he was staring at earlier. It was quite a weird request, but I did what he asked me and he said thank you again, looking a bit less scared. I watched while he ate, he really did seem like he was starving.

"Do you wanna take a warm shower before you sleep? You look like you're freezing. It doesn't bother me."

"You do not have to be so kind to me. I do not deserve it." Freddie quietly said.

I took his hand in mine, kneeling in front of him.

"I'm not gonna leave you all cold, Freddie. I don't know how long you're gonna stay here, but I assure you that you're welcome in this apartment as long as you want. I know you're gonna say I don't know you, but I think it would have been a bit obvious if you had bad intentions. So you're home here, Freddie. Okay?" I explained to him.

In a matter of seconds, he wrapped his arms around my body, holding me tight. I rubbed his back comfortingly. He smelled like sweet roses. He was tiny in my arms, his nose on my neck, his arms gripping on my back desperately.

"I am sorry." He whispered eventually, pulling away from me shamefully.

"I think we both needed a big hug." I told him with a smile and he blushed.

I slowly took his wrist, helping him to get up from the couch. He snatched it away quickly, eyes wide, terror showing in them. He apologized again and I reassured him while preparing him a shower he gladly took. When he got out, he already looked better.

When during the night I heard cried, it took me a while to realize there was someone sleeping on my couch. I went down the stairs quietly, not wanting to scare Freddie. I woke him up when I realized he was having a nightmare. I held him in my arms again, he shook terribly for a little while. When he calmed down, I told him to come and sleep in the same as me, thinking it would make him feel better. It became an habit for the following weeks. But I never got to know what the nightmare was about.

_November 14th 1968_

I never let Freddie go. I think he was glad I didn't, he looked so much happier than the night we met, he wasn't as shy as before. He could speak English so well now, so well that he started calling me sweet names, darling, dear. I secretly loved it and I was insanely proud of how well he was doing.

I decided it was time to make him meet my band mates. Smile wasn't really a big thing. We did a few gigs a month, in bars, pubs. Brian and Tim were tired of me talking about Freddie when they didn't even know him yet, so I brought him to our gig. I was happy how much they seemed to get along.

"So, were they that bad?" I asked Freddie as we walked home.

He was a nervous wreck when I told him he would be meeting them. He kept asking if they would like him, if they wouldn't like that he wasn't from London, if they'd found him annoying with all the nicknames he called people, if they'd hate him because he was gay.

I quickly learned that Freddie could look ultra confident, but be really insecure. It was like all those majestic ways of talking and moving were just a way of hiding how anxious he truly was around new people. But I tried to reassure him as much as possible.

"I like them, they're sweet. Do you think they liked me? I know I talked a lot-"

"They loved you, Freddie."

 _I love you,_ I wanted to say.

We arrived at home and put the heating on. It was absolutely freezing. Freddie quickly went to the couch and wrapped himself in the comfiest blanket. He still wasn't used to live in such temperatures. He told me it was way hotter in Zanzibar, which I wasn't doubting at all.

"How was work, by the way? I forgot to ask you." I said to him.

Freddie had found a job in a supermarket when he started mastering English more. He hated it, but no matter how much time I told him to quit and let me pay, because it didn't bother me, he often ignored me. He told me he felt bad to make me pay for everything when I was already being nice enough by letting him stay here.

"It was shit." He chuckled while I sat beside him and took a part of the blanket to wrap myself in it.

It made us closer, but we did so often we never questioned it anymore.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Some old annoying lady yelled at me for touching her fucking hand while packing her food and she began shouting some nasty homophobic and racist slurs at me."

"Oh and I insulted her back, because I was fucking tired of her." Freddie smirked.

I laughed with him.

"But my boss then also yelled at me warning if I ever did that again I'd be fired." He said with a slight frown on his face.

I took one of his hands in mine, holding it tightly.

"You know I'm proud of you, right?" I quietly said.

"For what? Being nasty to an old lady?" He giggled.

"Well, no... but standing up for yourself and for many other things. For adapting so quickly to England, for assuming who you are, for being so strong." I enumerated.

His cheeks quickly turned pinkish. A little spark in his eyes formed and he looked down at our joined hands. When he looked at me again, a smiled had appeared on his sweet face. He looked incredibly beautiful like that, all shy and sweet. So I put my lips on his. And he didn't pull away.

Butterflies went flying in my stomach, making it even better. Freddie's finger gripped onto my forearms, getting me even closer to him. I kissed him as softly as could, wanting this to last forever with how good it felt.

"I love you so much, Freddie." I whispered when our lips separated.

"Really?" He asked, his eyes going wide and happy, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"So, so much." I replied and he giggled, blush growing again on his soft skin.

"I-I love you too." He said back.

_3rd persons POV:_

Freddie couldn't seem to really believe it. It seemed so surreal. After so many years being told no one would ever want, being showed anything but love, convincing him that they were truly right, that no matter what he'd do, nobody would ever love him.

His whole body filled with warm thinking about the man wrapping his arms around him. Kissing him and telling him how much he was loved. He'd proved them they were wrong. He could be loved, even if it had never happened before. And he learned it the day of their meet anniversary. How romantic is that?

When one night, months later, they got closer to each other, kissing, hands wandering, body shivering, Roger removed his own clothes, before removing his boyfriend's. When he noticed the marks on the body of his lover, the nasty scars, the Persian said he had an accident. Never he would say it, he preferred to lie than to lose the only thing that mattered to him.

An other day, they sat on their lovely little couch, snuggling, kissing each other every two seconds. The time passed so slowly, and they were glad it did, loving this calm and warm moment they occasionally had, even if this time there was no occasion to.

"Do you think I'd make a good singer for Smile?" The older asked, biting down his bottom lip.

It had taken aback the poor drummer, never expecting a question like that to ever pop up.

"Can you sing?" He had asked.

When they were both sat on the piano bench, as close as before, and Freddie began singing his heart out, of course showing one of the love songs he had written for Roger, the blonde immediately knew something. They would definitely be brought to the top with his fantastic voice. So he immediately kissed his boyfriend.

And he was right only weeks later, after Jim decided to leave for an other band with a silly name, they renamed the band Queen and Freddie did his first show extraordinarily. The singer knew he wouldn't have done it if Roger hadn't given all his love and comfort when he began feeling all anxious.

They worked so well together, and anybody who didn't see it truly was blind.


	2. Nothing More Than Memories

Their fight started at the club, a man trying to kiss Freddie. Roger seeing them kiss, not letting Freddie any time to pull away as he quickly ran to them, not bothering about all the other people he was pushing. They fought in the car of the way back at their flat.

"I didn't fucking want to Roger?! Why don't you listen to your fucking boyfriend instead of believing what you saw for one second and a half?" The older yelled.

And it continued in the apartment.

"I was about to push him away!"

"But you didn't!"

"You're so fucking stubborn!"

"It wouldn't even surprise me if you did it on purpose! When will you fucking learn?!" Roger yelled.

And it was like every anger left the singer's body. He couldn't help but freeze and stare at his mad lover, ready for the hits as his partner let his arms fly everywhere. He felt cold, now remembering everything. He could feel his heart beating excessively loudly.

"When will you learn?"

"It's all your fault. You do this to yourself."

"What did I tell you last time? There are consequences for everything."

"You fell off your bike, Farrokh, that's what happened and that's what you're gonna tell everyone."

"You think we'd let you embarrass our family without doing anything, you fag?"

The burn marks from the cigarettes.

The cupboard exactly the good size for his little body to fit. Locked.

The metal part of the belt cold on the skin. Are the marks gonna ever fade?

The dresses the only clothes in the closet during the weekend.

The radiator, the ropes too tight, sweat everywhere.

The questioning looks from the comrades in the classroom.

The concerns of the teacher.

The questions from the social workers.

"I fell off my bike."

"I fell off the bunk bed."

"The older kids hit me at school."

"The cats scratched me."

"I was too close to the stove."

"I was fighting with my sister."

The inner thoughts.

That's how I can be loved.

I'm sorry I wasn't good enough.

Maybe I shouldn't be proud of who I am.

Nobody can help.

That's what I deserve.

Why does every else's parents come to pick up my friends?

One day, I'll run away.

"Freddie? Fred?!"

Roger didn't fail to notice when his lover flinched at his touch. He couldn't yell anymore. He couldn't be angry, not when the man he loved looked so scared. He had started staring at him with wide eyes, face pale and arms wrapped around himself. He had no idea what was wrong, but he knew there was definitely something wrong.

"Are you okay, love?"

He didn't get an answer. The singer ran away, slamming the door of the bathroom. It was always his safe place. The room where he knew he'd be safe. Until one time. One time he escaped the living room filled of his family, he didn't know half of the people talking. He locked himself in the bathroom, or at least he thought he did, until his father opened the door. He tried convincing himself nothing would happen, that the bathroom would be a safe place, but he was wrong after looking at the blood seeping from his arms and legs.

The drummer didn't hesitate one second to run after his boyfriend. He knocked lightly on the door, hoping for an answer, but not getting any. He didn't know on the other side his lover was trying so hard not to freak out, to keep telling himself it was Roger, not his father, not his mother, no one to hurt him. But he couldn't help but close his eyes tightly, waiting for the door to open with a powerful kick to the lock.

The blonde kept thinking about what could be happening, about what he did to make his, he hoped so, soon to be husband so upset. And then, it all came to him. It made him remember that day, a few years ago. Freddie and him were only together for a couple of months, he had never met Freddie's parents.

_____

June, 22th, 1969

Both men were lying in the bed they shared now every night. It had only been a few months that they had been together, and they had finally moved together a month ago. There were still a few boxes laying around the flat, they were too lazy to open any of them. The bedroom still wasn't of their taste, a few things were needed to decorate. Roger insisted on hanging one of Freddie's paintings on the wall, much to the older's disagreement.

Both of their instruments were placed in an other room, both of them way too big to be in the bedroom. Freddie still dreamed about being a singer, in the same band as his boyfriend. Unfortunately, Tim, the singer and bassist, seemed to love his position.

"You know, Freddie." The drummer started. "You've already met my parents, at least three or four times. They invited you for dinner, even for Easter."

The soon-to-be singer didn't like where this was going. He unconsciously wrapped his arms tighter around the body of his lover. He didn't like how much only a few words made him remember everything. How much only those words made his heart beat out of his chest and his chest hurt.

"When will I meet your family, Freddie?"

He had no idea what to answer. He didn't want to have to explain everything, from the first argument to him in the nearest airport, ready to leave everything. But what could he say? He didn't like to lie to the one he loved. But he didn't want to think about them more.

"I- uh- I don't know where they live anymore. I don't know who they are. I don't know what they became. It's been years since I saw them, Rog." He answered honestly.

He didn't say more, Roger didn't ask. He could sense it was a sensible subject. It sure made him want to know about it, to understand why it triggered his boyfriend.

"I'm sorry." The Persian whispered.

He didn't know why he was apologising. For too much things maybe. He didn't know who he was apologising to. To Roger, for not telling the whole truth. To his parents maybe, for leaving them, for disappointing them. And it kept coming back in his head. He kept thinking he could have done better, he could have made them proud, and nothing would have happened. He kept wondering if maybe he had been dramatic. That maybe it had always been what he deserved. That it had always happened for a reason.

"It's okay, baby." The younger man answered, bringing his lover close to his lips to kiss him, removing every bad thought from the other's head.

_____

"I'm sorry, love. Did I hurt you? I didn't mean to, I swear. Please come out, I want to see you. I love you, baby."

He didn't mean to, but the older couldn't help but blame himself again. He was making the one he loved feel guilty. He was ruining everything again.

Suddenly, he felt the bathroom becoming too little. Everything was too close to him. He felt imprisoned. Where would he feel safe again? His sister wasn't there anymore for him to wrap his arms around her and let her warm comfort him in all the pain. There was someone outside the door, asking him to get out, telling him he loved him, yet he felt so lonely. Why would Roger want him after knowing everything he lived through? He'd start treating him differently, maybe he'd want to act the same way, or he'd leave him, because he was like a broken toy that we put in the bin when it's gotten useless to everyone.

_____

December, 13th, 1954

He watched through the little seem of the cupboard his parents close the light and get to bed. Nobody tried to get him out of there. The ankles tightly tied with a metallic thing he didn't like at all. His mouth was covered with a bandana, he wouldn't have been surprised if it was one of the cat's. The ache in his rib made every breath he took painful. There were thick ropes around his wrist, the itchiness of them irritating the already injured skin.

His stomach was too empty. Kashmira was way too young to even understand what his brother would be doing in there. There was no way she would have been an help in any way. The air was almost nonexistent. There was nothing to make his aching body comfortable in any way in the so little cupboard.

It wasn't the first time it had happened. It wasn't new, he already knew what it felt like. But this time he knew it was his fault. He had talked to his teacher earlier this day, asking her about some things that weren't normal for a 8 years old little boy.

"Is it normal for the parents to hit you?"

"You know, with the metal part of the belt. You know what I'm talking about?"

The teacher didn't answer much. He thought that maybe he was being treated like any other kid. He thought maybe he was just imagining things, maybe he was even treated better than any of his friends. Maybe that's why his parents called him a spoiled child. He was just a spoiled child.

Later that day, around 9 pm, there was a knock on the door. His parents didn't let him see who it was. They talked for a while, he quietly watched from a crack of the door his mother talk to an other woman. He didn't read that well yet, but after a while he managed to read SOCIAL WORKER on the badge the woman wore. He figured it wasn't a good thing by how angry his parents looked.

He realised they were angry at him when the door closed and he was dragged in his parent's bedroom. He watched the persons that put him into this world yell at him. He didn't know what they were doing to him until he found his hands impossible to move, and the heat going through his clothes quickly, the burning metal against his back. He cried, pleading his parents to let him go.

"What did I tell you last time? There are consequences for everything." The man yelled.

"When will you learn?!" His mother said.

He was soaked in his own sweat, yet, his throat was insanely dry. He wanted to scream, but something was quickly put over his mouth. He forced himself not to cry, he would bring himself more problems, and he'd be even dryer. He deserved it.

"It's all your fault. You do this to yourself."

_____

The 27 years old men could remember this night like it had happened yesterday, yet it had happened 19 years earlier. Maybe he remembered it so well because it was the first time his parents had been so angry. And all their anger was directed at him.

All of this had happened during so many years. He remembered so well too the first they hit him. The real first time he was touched by his parents. By the one he thought would love him no matter what, no matter how bad he was acting from time to time.

_____

April, 3rd, 1953

The 7 years boy had started crying. His left cheek was all red, hurting too much for a boy this young. There were traces of fingers now evident on his face. He thought he was doing the right thing, but he was wrong again. Everything kept telling him he was doing everything wrong.

Freddie, called Farrokh at the time, had tried picking up his little sister he loved so much. He had took her from her crib and had walked through the house with her in his arms, singing softly too her, a big smile on his face when she laughed.

But their mother had found them, she had took the little girl from Farrokh's arms and let her husband take care of him. The little boy stayed shocked when the hand of his father, that he always thought loving, found his cheek and hurt him. Not the usual feeling of the warm hand on his face, only cold and hurt.

When he discovered his face had bruised the next morning he didn't say anything to his parents.

"You fell off your bike, Farrokh, that's what happened and that's what you're gonna tell everyone." His mother had said before telling him to get ready for school.

The other kids at school had looked at him almost in a frightened way. And when his teacher asked what has happened, he answered he fell off his bike and hit his face on the ground. The older woman didn't think anything more was going on.

_____

When the pressuring feeling finally left his chest, the pianist stood on his still trembling legs. He rapidly noticed in the mirror his face was covered in tears. He kept trying to tell himself there was only tears, not covered in bruises, not covered in blood. He quickly wiped away the tears and tried to make his eyes look normal again, not puffy and red. When he felt it was good enough, he unlocked the door and opened it.

When the drummer saw the other man standing there, he didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around the body of the smaller man. Both of their breath synchronising themselves after a while. The singer kept thinking, maybe he didn't deserve so much love, but he just fought off that thought, getting closer to his boyfriend. He needed to stop thinking about them.

"What's going on, baby?" The younger whispered sweetly.

It burned the lips of the Persian to get everything out, to tell him everything that was heavy on his heart, even 6 years after it happened. But he didn't, because he couldn't himself lose the love of his life. He wouldn't handle it. He thought a few seconds, that Roger loved him no matter what, that it wouldn't change anything. But he couldn't open his mouth, he couldn't say anything. Like the bandana they used to put on his mouth had become permanent.

"Is it your parents?" The blonde said even quieter.

He noticed his love tense up. His arms tightening around him. His breath more loud and heavy. The trembles of his body. And he immediately knew he was right. He rubbed Freddie's back gently, shushing him in comfort. He didn't need his lover to get even more upset than he already was.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Roger asked softly.

It was an opportunity the songer had been given countless times in his life. He never said anything, because saying anything always made everything ten times worse. And he knew that people would nod their head, saying they understood, when he knew no one truly understood. He was asked, why didn't you run away earlier? Like it was easy, leaving the people you loved. And where you could he have gone anyway?

But it was Roger, no anyone else. It was his boyfriend, his ever so loving boyfriend. There was no reason he'd act this way. Or was he wrong? Thinking he would never leave him? He nodded without thinking. He let his lover bring him to their bedroom, make them sit on the bed, their bodies extremely close.

And when the blonde told the other to go for it, to explain everything, or at least what he was able to explain, he let out everything. At first, the words came out hardly, he struggled to know how to say it, how to explain all this pain he had always bottled up. To make out into words the hardest things to even formulate in your head.

He had to pause in the middle of a sentence, to close his eyes and breathe, to make all the images in his head go away. He felt hands on his cheeks, wiping something wet from his cheeks. He only realised he was sobbing after a while.

When he was ready to continue, he explained everything. The burn marks of the cigarettes, how they'd try to humiliate him, to make him wear dresses. How they had hit him when they found him kissing a boy. And everything else they had done to him, not caring one bit about how much everything killed him slowly, but painfully.

"Why didn't you go to your other family members instead of coming all the way here?" The drummer asked.

"They would have sent me back home. They wouldn't have believed me. Nobody believed me. I was gay, everyone thought of me as a bad kid. Even the social workers didn't believe me. They believed what my parents told them. That it was all accidents." The Persian explained.

"My parents kept telling me it was for my own good, that I deserved everything I got. They forbid me to say anything that was happening, telling me there would be consequences. So I didn't say anything, because I believed them."

The last sentence intensified the frown to the younger's face.

"You didn't deserve it, Freddie. Nobody deserves that." The blue eyed boy said quietly, taking the hands of the other in his.

"I wasn't being good." The other replied barely above a whisper, avoiding the eyes of his other half.

He always asked himself: 'Why bringing him to this world for making his life a nightmare?" He wished he could have the answer. He wished he could understand why they did that to him. Why did they destroy him?! Only for wanting to be finally good. Only for trying his hardest to be the son they wished for, not a burden.

"Even if you were an horrible child, which I know you were not, they didn't have the right to do this. You didn't deserve it, baby." Roger said, bringing his lover in his arms.

They spent countless minutes hugging each other. No word escaped their mouth, the room had never been so silent. They shared their love through this hug, both of their warm ness mixing together and making something beautiful. How could anyone ever break them apart? It was meant to be, they were together, and they would be forever.

"Why did you never tell me?" The younger asked.

"I'm sorry." The Persian whispered back.

"It's okay, baby. It's okay I swear. I just want to know."

They both couldn't help but feel like it was the first time they were this close to each other. They always hugged and cuddled, but they now they were close physically and mentally, and it felt good.

"I was scared."

The words barely were hearable.

"Scared of what? Of me?" The blonde asked.

He didn't want to seem to be punching too much, but maybe it was really the case. Maybe he was frightening his lover, even if he had never acted violent or anything. Maybe the other was just still so sensible that it still made him scared of anyone.

"N-no. I just- I was scared, th-that you'd leave m-me. That y-you wouldn't wa-want me anymore. Or that you'd un-understand why they did it and t-that you would w-want to do the sa-same." His voice cracked while he explained.

He was feeling ashamed, maybe concerned too, that his love would hate him for these kind of thoughts he had. Surely he'd be angry at him for being so stupid? He would find him ridiculous, and now really leave him, telling him of how childish he was acting.

"I would never to that, love. Of course not, I love you, no matter what. And I always will, okay? You're my whole life baby." The drummer said with all the love he had.

He pulled away from his boyfriend. He searched through his pocket the thing that made him so nervous. The reason why that kiss he had see Freddie share with someone else made him so upset. It was so little, lost in his enormous jacket pocket. It was the first reason of why they had gone out earlier, not that Freddie had any idea about it.

He took in his hands the little black silk box. It looked so expensive, so chic and elegant. He looked at the face of the man in front of him, he had figured out what it was. His eyes were widened, his mouth a little opened. He was speechless, feeling little tears gathering in his eyes.

"I don't know if it's the right time, but I feel like it is. I love you, Freddie, and I want to be with you forever. I know we can't really get married, but it'd be like we would be. We could have our own unofficial wedding, with my family, and our friends."

The hands of the drummer were shaking when he opened the box to reveal a beautiful ring, with a single big diamond on it. It was perfect. A little thing engraved on the ring: 'FM+RT'. It was so cliche, but they both loved it.

The blue eyed man took the singer in his arms when his now fiancé nodded and started sobbing with his face in his hands. They managed to put the ring on his hand, not without difficulty because of how much they were both shaking. They shared a kiss, maybe it could have been interpreted as a normal kiss, but it was the best they had ever shared.

Maybe it was cliche too, but they both laid on the bed and made love. It was the sweetest it had ever been. The younger looked out for every place he was putting his hands, thinking about the previous confessions. He stared with love a few seconds at every scar, the one he thought were made without a big reason, an accident maybe, or previous less caring lovers. He made sure to look at Freddie's face every minute, to stare in his eyes and thank the world for the fact he was still there even after everything.

He looked at every part of his body thinking about every disgusting things that were done to him. Kissing his wrists, that would never ever be held tightly again. Kissing his chest, that would never be covered in belt marks again. Caressing his arms, that would never wear a cigarette burn ever again. Squeezing gently his legs, that would now be spared of any injury. And finally, take his head in his hands, that'd be free of all the pain from the last.

"I love you." They both whispered at the same, making them giggle quietly.

Roger didn't fail to wrap his arms around his fiancé during the night. He let him put his cold feet on his own legs. He didn't complain when the hair of his lover got all over his face. He brought him even closer, probably getting hairs in his mouth. He watched the one he loved sleep, both staying awake from worry of from the fascination he was feeling. The man he was holding had been through so much, and still managed to live normally, like none of it ever happened.

And he knew he loved him from the bottom of his heart. No one would ever change his mind.


End file.
